


Tempest

by Shikorra



Category: Northanger Abbey - Jane Austen
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:07:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22703677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shikorra/pseuds/Shikorra
Summary: A few days before General Tilney returns, Catherine is lost, unaware of forming tempests.
Relationships: Catherine Morland/Henry Tilney
Comments: 9
Kudos: 67
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	Tempest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Major](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Major/gifts).



> Dear recipient - Catherine and Henry are such darlings and I hope you enjoy this little bit of mischief. It does not fit quite perfectly into a missing scene - I wrote it with the inital thought of it being canon-divergent - but I hope it does not clash excessively.

The afternoon post came and went and Catherine was surprised by a letter from home. It was mostly from her sister Sally but most of their siblings and and both her parents had added something. It was a delight to read. Sally had included a deliciously horrid line carefully copied from a new novel she was wild to read in full; guests travelling through and staying but one night at Fullerton had brought it and shared the first chapter. Catherine eagerly asked Eleanor if she had heard of "The New Monk". Eleanor regretfully said she had not; Catherine was welcome to check their library if she wished - but Eleanor had a touch of the headache and intended to rest in her room for an hour or so. Catherine exclaimed over her friend and assured her that she would be fine by herself for a while and the two parted without worry.

A check of the library turned up nothing and nothing and oppressed by the heaviness of the air, Catherine tucked her letter in her pocket and fled the house. A walk would do her good, she was sure of it.

Choosing the path towards the woods, Catherine passed a trio of pensioner's cottages; from the last came a young curly-coated retriever, all oversized paws and happy wuffs. Catherine laughed and petted him and did not mind at all when he followed at her heels as she rambled onward. Remembering her letter, she drew it out and for some little time, her attention was fixed on the cheerful, affectionate news of her family. Each sentence was read and re-read; she giggled again at the faithfully related solemn-words of her youngest sister and was warmed by the brief expressions of affection from brothers who missed her enough to say so. She did not look at her path.

By and by, Catherine looked up again and much to her bemusement, saw nothing familiar at all. The path she had been following had long since petered out; she stood amidst close trees and all views were the same. The retriever was nearby and so she addressed it. "Well, I imagine _you_ should know your way back! I am sure I do not." The dog looked up at the sound of her voice and gambolled over for a pet. "Home? Which way do we go?" When the dog merely sat and looked at her, Catherine sighed. "The woods cannot go on forever." she reminded herself as she turned and attempted to retrace her steps.

This time, she looked about her she walked and Catherine' imagination was swiftly caught by the stillness of the place. She thought it timeless, a place that seemed like it could go on forever and from there, she leapt into visions of ancient things, creatures of whimsy and horror; that stump was a crouching troll, that dead branch a skeletal hand and when the dog ahead of her abruptly vanished downwards, she nearly jumped out of her skin. But happy barks made her laugh and continue - cautiously! She found herself looking down a short, steep slope to a sheltered nook and the sight of a jumble of old stone drove all concerns out of her head. A ruin! But of what?

Catherine half scrambled, half climbed down to join her canine acquaintance and was rewarded. It was indeed a ruin, although what it was of was impossible to say. One partly-buried wall, hard up against the hillside, was intact enough to show a doorway, a massive stone lintel suggesting it was far older than the abbey itself - and behind that doorway, a dark space loomed. Catherine ventured closer, her eyes shining with excitement. She wished that Eleanor was here and then had to contemplate what Mr. Tilney would say. What ghastly tale would he relate to immortalise the memory of this moment for them both?

The wall was very old indeed, pitted and worn by centuries of weather but in a corner less exposed by most, Catherine say a curious shape... a scratching? A mason's mark? No, it couldn't be! Bending closer, she gasped to find it, if one squinted just a little, a most crude C and M. She stared and wondered, and imagined Henry whispering of a long ago little Catherine imprisoned in a room in a this ancient outpost, hidden away for the crimes unspeakable of... And there her mind halted as she considered who might lock up a young girl so long ago. A relative, surely? A madman certainly?

* * *

Henry was just then turning his horse over to the stable-hands as he eyed the black clouds just a little distance away. It would be a substantial storm, he mused, and he hoped it would not make the road too muddy for his return to Woodston on the morrow. Once he was inside, he was informed his sister and her friend were resting in their rooms and - presuming he would see them at dinner - he retired to his own.

* * *

A snuffle and a snort nearly made Catherine yell when a half-grown pair of pigs appeared behind her. Their ears were notched, marking their ownership by someone or other. Catherine had not though the woods to be common land - but it mattered little. Smiling to herself, she bent to look at the scratching on the wall more closely and then _did_ yell as thunder cracked overhead terribly close.

All at once, everything changed. The wind picked up and a flash of lightning shattered the sky. Now Catherine could see - now the boiling, seething clouds of a spring storm were close enough that the trees could not hide them. The dog started to bark, and the pigs trotted into the dark space just behind the old doorway. Catherine shivered and as a burst of rain spattered across the ground, she followed the pigs example.

* * *

Safe in his room at the abbey, Henry stood at the window and watched the storm roll in. It was a magnificent sight in it's way, devouring the view of the woods with all the ferocity of it's nature.

* * *

It was dry. There was little else Catherine could say as she huddled against the stone, dog pressed to her legs and the pigs snuffling quietly a few inches away. The ground in her shelter was dry as well and after a long minute watching the sheets of water pouring down outside, she sat down and made herself as comfortable as she could. She was lost - perhaps the dog would lead her home again but the thought of stepping out into _that_ was too much, even had she been sure of the way.

* * *

When Henry left off watching the storm and made his way to the dining room, he found only Eleanor. The siblings chattered happily and it was only when they realised it was past the hour did they wonder where Catherine was. A servant was sent and returned to say she was not in her room - nor in the library. Concerned, brother and sister asked them to keep searching, and held dinner as long as they could. When the reports continued to find no Catherine, they ate with reluctance and asked the kitchen to make a tray for Catherine for when she was found before joining the search themselves.

No room, no passage, no attic nor cupboard revealed any sign of Miss Morland. No servants had seen her since she was observed returning to her own room after leaving the library. There was no note, hidden or otherwise, but at last a maid discovered that the pelisse Catherine normally wore to walk out was missing too.

Hearing this, Eleanor and Henry turned as one to look at the nearest window. Not yet sunset, the clouds and unrelenting rain rendered it near enough to dark that the window glass showed their horrified reflections. A single look was enough; Henry left at once to speak to the men who could search outside while Eleanor gave orders for a hot bath to be prepared, along with anything else that might help her friend when she was found or support Henry and the men in their task.

The gardens were extensive and with no idea which way to go, they dare not leave any of it examined. A hour went past and then most of another one and there was nothing and nothing found. Grimly determined, Henry had led the search from the start and could barely be persuaded to stop long enough for a hot drink; only Eleanor's insistence prevailed. Then, as true night was falling, a clue was found. Their old gamekeeper who living in a pensioner's cottage said he'd seen a young lady walk in the direction of the wood-path; one of his dogs had followed her. No one mentioned to Henry that the cantankerous gamekeeper was more peeved about his missing dog than worried for Miss Morland.

The rain eased at times but did not stop as Henry and a handful of men searched for another hour, calling both for Miss Morland and for the dog, named Kip after stealing the end of a kipper when he was just a pup. There was never an answer and Henry was all but dragged back to the Abbey. They had done all they could; they must wait for daylight. Henry disagreed but although he wished to keep searching on his own, he could not deny it was irrational of him to do so.

Eleanor waited in the little sitting room that was her favourite place to evade unwanted company; Henry joined her after changing into dry clothes. "I cannot bear this," he muttered as he stared out the window. "Such a storm - you cannot imagine how wet it is out there, Eleanor! And Miss Morland only dressed for a afternoon stroll!"

Eleanor put a glass in his hand and when Henry drank without looking at it, she felt her eyebrow go up in momentary surprise. Henry hated sherry and he had not even noticed. "Catherine is practical, Henry. She would have sought shelter. Most likely _that_ is why she cannot be found; she is snuggled up somewhere safe and dry, probably long asleep."

Henry just shook his head.

With a sigh, Eleanor sat by the fire and kept her thoughts to herself. Henry's agitation and distress was much beyond what she had expected - much beyond what he had expected either it seemed. She was not sorry at all about _that_ , only worried (despite her attempts at reassurance) for her friend. In time, even worry could not keep her alert and she slept until morning.

* * *

While Eleanor kept him silent company, Henry endeavoured to restrain his wish to rage and storm. How had Catherine become so dear to him? When? He found himself fluttering through his memories; recalling his gentle amusement at her earnest, adorable enthusiasm in Bath and attempting to trace just what day, what hour it had turned from such mild feelings to the tempest of now. When he noticed his sister sleeping, he tucked a soft blanket over her and left.

He stopped by the kitchen to ask (superfluously as it had already been requested) for a packet of food to be ready before dawn, then went to the stables to check and double check preparations for daylight. A warm cloak for Miss Morland, a rope, a knife. Bandages just in case, and a few more things besides. Unable to keep still, Henry then paced, pausing only to stare out at the dark and the rain. Therefore, when the rain finished at last, he was saddling his horse and they stepped out when only faintest trace of dawn's light could be discerned on the horizon and he was cantering up the path before the rest of the intended search-party had roused.

* * *

Catherine woke to the sound of her name being called and a sudden rush of barks from the dog. She emerged from her little shelter (it had been kept surprisingly warm between two pigs, a dog and human) to see Henry, at the top of the slope she had climbed down yesterday, limned by the early dawn light behind him. She smiled, she waved with great excitement, only to gasp as Henry, after dismounting, attempted to scramble down the slope and only succeeded in bringing half of it, as mud, down with him.

His horse sensibly stayed at the top.

"Oh Mr. Tilney!" Catherine cried, struggling not to laugh at her now excessively muddy rescuer.

Henry just drank in the sight of her, knowing he was grinning like a fool. She was mussed there was leaves in her hair and smudges of dirt quite _ruining_ the muslin of her gown - but she was dry and well, and she was smiling. "Miss Morland."


End file.
